Merlin: Quest of the Dragonlord

Chapter 7: Friends of Camelot

Chapter 7: Friends of Camelot

They rode as if they were racing against time.  Every obstacle that they met was swiftly taken care of by Merlin.  All that he had to do was to say a few words in the Old Tongue for a river to allow them passage, a muddy road to become dry, or a fallen tree to roll out of the path.  Normally, King Arthur would not have allowed his servant to use magic so openly.  However, at the present time, he knew better than to start again on that argument with the young sorcerer.

The truth was that he was really running out of arguments.  As he watched Merlin move a boulder so that they could cut across an open field, the young king was stricken not by the display of power, but by his friend’s ability to lead.  He had heard of it during his short stay in Aria’s Cradle.  Now for the first time in three years since being back, he was finally witnessing it first hand.

As they stepped into the field, a smell of freshly cut hay filled Arthur’s nostrils and he sneezed loudly.

“Some farmer you would make,” laughed Gwaine.

Only Elyan’s face remained stern.  “Speaking of farmers… Our presence will not fail to be noticed on these open grounds.  Are you sure you want to go this way, Merlin?”

The knight had addressed his query directly to the servant, and not to the king.  Yet, somehow, Arthur found that he didn’t mind at all.  

He brought his horse closer to the sorcerer.  His eyes were locked on the horizon.

“It’s still faster than staying on the road,” Merlin replied.  “Besides, we’re at the far eastern end of Camelot.  For you Gwaine, that’s about one hour on foot to the White Water Inn.”

“The innkeeper makes a great stew,” said the knight, a wide smirk on his face.

The others smiled but Arthur tried to remain serious.  “I agree with Elyan,” he said.  “If there is trouble in Camelot as you seem to expect, an open field makes us easy targets for arrows.”

Merlin glanced sideways at the king.  “Anything shooting at us isn’t much of a threat.  I can conjure a shield that’s quite effective.  I’m more worried about… I don’t know but it’s something else.”

“Can you give us any hint?” said Gwaine while loosening the straps of his sword.

Merlin hesitated.  “I just hope I’m wrong.”  And then he kicked his horse into a run.

Arthur and the knights took off after him.  The long grass whipped at their horses’ flanks.  They had to stop when Arthur’s horse sank knee deep into a pool of mud that they had not seen.  It took all of Percival’s strength to pull the white steed out of its precarious situation.  All the while, Merlin was pacing on his stallion and glancing nervously towards Camelot.  

Dusk was drawing near when they sighted a settlement at the end of the field.  It could not even be called a village.  There were only four houses with a large farmhouse in the middle, all of which were protected only by a crumbling wall of stone.  

As the riders came nearer, there was oddly no one to meet them.  The doors of the houses were shut and the windows veiled.  A single cooking fire was still burning under a small pot just a few paces inside the circular fence.

“Hmm.  What is that wonderful smell?” said Gwaine, leading his horse nearer.

Percival quickly caught his arm.

“That’s the smell of a trap, my friend,” murmured the strong knight between gritted teeth.  “Let’s keep a safe distance, shall we?”

Arthur unsheathed his sword and his knights did the same.  The ring of the metal blades filled the air, breaking the tense silence of the empty field.  Merlin was the only one without any weapon in hand.  His grandfather’s sword was still strapped to Nuada’s saddle.